Gia and he were alone for the first time since their impulsive tryst more than two years ago. His glaze slid over to her. There were light purple smudges beneath her eyes, which made her green eyes look huge and a little haunted. No, not haunted. Hunted. He’d agreed with Joshua Cabot’s assessment last night. She looked exhausted. He didn’t know if it was the upcoming McClarin trial and this press debacle or her frantic work schedule, but the fresh girl he’d met years back was starting to show signs of stress.
“You definitely trust her?” Gia asked quietly, nodding in the direction where Leti had just departed.
He nodded.
“She’s clearly not an actress then,” Gia said darkly. When he didn’t respond, her eyes flashed. “Are you and she . . . ?” She waved her hand, frowning.
“No. Leti’s a friend. Even if I didn’t trust her and Karen, though, they have limited information. We’ve compartmentalized the knowledge of what we’re doing, keeping things on a need-to-know basis. Even Karen isn’t going to stick around to see your final disguise. I’m the only one who will know that. Leti and Karen only know that you and I met here this morning. No one knows where we’ll go from here, except for us, Charles, Alex and Madeline.”
She stared at him with a mixture of annoyance, anxiety and defiance. He stepped toward her. Her eyes widened. Without a word, he removed the newsboy cap she wore and dug his fingers into the rich, dense coils of the artfully sloppy bun at her neck. She made a choked sound of disbelief and outrage in her throat, but he cut her off before she could speak.
“I don’t suppose you’d let Karen cut this, would you?” he asked gruffly, finding several pins and matter-of-factly pulling them out.
“My hair?” she asked in a stunned voice.
He looked down into her eyes. He’d never seen a purer, clearer shade of green. “I told you I was going to transform you into a boy. If you don’t let Karen cut it, I’ll have to bind it tightly under a cap before I put on the wig,” he said as he withdrew the last pin, and the long, golden brown tresses began to fall around her shoulders. He resisted a strong urge to grab a fistful of the glorious stuff. He stiffened slightly when he inhaled the familiar fruity scent of tangerines. She hadn’t changed shampoos.
“It’ll be itchy and uncomfortable for you,” he added.
She stepped away from him.
“I’m afraid I don’t have any choice,” she said. “I don’t think they’d be pleased if I showed up on the set of Interlude with my hair all chopped off. It wouldn’t fit the part, and I’d rather not wear a wig everyday for shooting.”
He shrugged and turned away. He hadn’t really thought she would agree to it. Gia Harris cut off those famous flowing locks? Not likely.
“Why do you look so smug?” she demanded.
He turned around, a little surprised by her fierceness. She glared at him.
“I’m not smug,” he said. “I just had already figured you’d consider the part for Interlude first and foremost.”
“Because I’m a shallow, self-centered actress, right?” He just looked at her, refusing to rise to the bait. “Okay,” she said, clawing at the knot in her scarf and whipping it off as if she were throwing down a gauntlet. “Why don’t I take the first cut through this bullshit,” she said, her low voice vibrating with restrained feeling. “Knowing you, you’d go the next three weeks together and never say a word about what happened two years ago at that cancer benefit. Do you really think that’s normal, Seth?”
He glanced wryly back at the chair and table he’d arranged in preparation for her makeup. “I’d have trouble finding anything about this whole thing that’s normal.”
Her eyes seemed to blaze as she took a step toward him. “I know how much you have a thing about avoiding actresses in your personal life. Liza told me.”
“I know. She told you before we ever met that night, didn’t she?”
Gia blinked. “I . . . I don’t remember.”
“You’re lying,” Seth replied levelly, turning to the chair and picking up the breast binder with subtle shoulder padding that he’d brought. “Liza told me she’d mentioned to you beforehand that I avoided actresses in my personal life.”
“Why do you?” she demanded suddenly, as if her curiosity had trumped her anger. Not that she still wasn’t pissed. Her indignation had flushed her cheeks and lips. He yanked his gaze away from her mouth. “How can you be so self-righteous about such a blatant prejudice? It’s unfair to the women you work with, day in and day out.”
“A lot of people don’t mix business and pleasure. It’s not surprising. Besides, you’re changing the subject,” he said, unzipping the binder. “You knew that night I avoided actresses, and that’s why you didn’t tell me you were a working Broadway actress—one who had a hit big enough to attract a Hollywood agent like Cecelia Arends,” he added, unable to fully disguise his sarcasm. “That’s why Cecelia was annoyed at Tommy Valian that night. Because he’d alienated the girl she was desperate to sign, and eventually did sign. That’s why she was chasing after you. A casting agent had already earmarked you for the part in Glory Girl. Cecelia was in hot pursuit. That’s what you were avoiding telling me that night.”
“I never lied to you.”
“Sometimes lies of omission are even more blatant than telling a falsehood.”
“You misled me as well,” she accused in a shaking voice. “According to Liza—and Cecelia, for that matter—things were a lot more serious between Cecelia and you than you led me to believe.”
“I can’t help it if that’s what Cecilia thought. I was being honest when I said I wasn’t involved with her. Time has proven that, hasn’t it?”
“Well, I was being honest that night too. Or as much as I could have been honest around a man with irrational prejudices about a profession.”
“Or about an age?” he muttered darkly. First confusion and then guilt flickered across her face. He had to say this about Gia, lying didn’t come naturally to her. He must have been half-crazed with lust that night not to notice her sleight of hand.